the time that drunken nobleman had cornered her in the chapel and no amount of gentle admonition would persuade him to let her go, until she’d finally promised to meet him later in a more secluded place. Her older sister had gone in her stead, and while Adelaide never revealed precisely what had transpired, Lord Smurton and his entourage had departed the next day at first light without even a farewell to his host.
“Oh, my lady!”
Lizette raised her eyes at the sound of Keldra’s cry and found her maid pointing at the middle of the stream—where her new silk veil was floating away on the water.
With a curse, Lizette hiked up her skirts and immediately gave chase along the slippery bank. She didn’t dare run because the rocks were too slick, but she had to get her veil. Iain would no doubt say she deserved to lose it if she was so careless and he’d probably never let her out of his sight for the rest of the journey home.
While she tried to keep her eyes on the veil as well as look for a stick with which to retrieve it, a man suddenly appeared on the opposite side of the stream as if he’d materialized out of thin air.
“Have no fear, my lady!” the stranger called out as she came to a startled halt. He unbuckled his sword belt and put it down on a nearby rock. “I mean you no harm.”
If he was taking off his sword and was alone, he likely didn’t mean any harm. More importantly, he sounded educated and of high rank—a knight, at least, if not a lord or baron.
Whoever he was, he wore a simple leather tunic with no shirt beneath, dark breeches and plain boots. Standing by the stream with the woods behind him, he was like some sort of god of the forest—or maybe that thought only came to her because of his simple clothing and dark, waving hair.
He began to wade across the deep stream and when he reached her veil, he plucked it from the water as easily as another man might pluck a daisy from its stem, then raised the dripping rectangle of cloth like a victor with his spoils.
“Permit me to introduce myself,” he said as he approached her, the water splashing up around his shins, his deep, musical voice again assuring her he was no rough rogue. “I’m Sir Oliver de Leslille, of Ireland.”
Sir Oliver—a knight indeed. Ireland explained the slight, delightful lilt to his words that made it seem as if he were singing rather than speaking.
He also possessed a high forehead, denoting intelligence, a remarkably fine, straight nose and a chin that was exactly what a man’s chin should be, while his full lips curved up in the most incredibly attractive smile.
Something deep inside her seemed to shift, as if a mild earthquake had moved the ground beneath her feet. Or the very quality of the air had changed.
Or as if something that had been slumbering had awakened.
“I was hunting with some friends and got separated from them,” Sir Oliver explained as he reached the bank and stood beside her. Water dripped from her bedraggled veil, and she couldn’t help noticing that his wet woolen breeches clung to his muscular thighs.
“Since I had a powerful thirst,” he said, “I stopped here, and then I heard your, um, cries of dismay. Very colorful, I must say.”
Sweet Mother of God, he’d heard her cursing. She wasn’t usually easily embarrassed, but right now, she was—so much so, she almost wished the stream would rise up and wash her away. Almost.
She wasn’t usually prone to blushing, either, but she was doing that, too, even as she realized she should say something. Give him thanks, at least. Unfortunately, the words would not come—another oddity—and instead she found herself transfixed by the steady, brown-eyed gaze of this handsome stranger who’d waded through the water toward her as if he did this sort of thing every day, and as if that water wasn’t ice-cold. “You must be frozen!”
“I’ve been colder than this plenty o’ times before, my lady,” he said as he handed her the sopping veil. “It’s worth a little chill to be of service to such a lovely woman.”
“I—I thank you, sir,” she stammered.
What in the name of the saints was wrong with her? She’d never sounded like such a complete ninny.
Unfortunately, she simply couldn’t seem to think clearly, to form coherent words or a thought other than that he was the most breathtakingly good-looking man she’d ever met. “I’m very grateful you retrieved this for me. I paid a great deal for it—too much, my sister will say—and I would have been very upset if I’d lost it. It’s fortunate you were nearby, although you’re a long way from Ireland.”
God help her, now she was babbling.
“Aye, my lady, I am,” he said, a twinkle of amusement in his brown eyes. “And who might you be?”
Fool! “I’m Lizette.” Simpleton! “I mean, I’m Lady Elizabeth, of Averette.”
The man nodded over her shoulder. “That’s your maid, I presume? I trust you have others with you and aren’t traveling alone?”
“Yes, no, that is, yes, that’s my maid. And of course, I have an escort. Of …” Sweet savior, how many? “Fifty men. They’re close by.”
“I’m glad to hear it. There are thieves lurking hereabouts and you’d be a very tempting morsel,” he said with a look in his eyes that made her throat go dry and her heartbeat quicken as it never had before.
“So I’ve heard. That is, that there are thieves, not that I … I don’t mean to sound vain … or imply …” She gave up and silently cursed herself for a dolt.
Sir Oliver laughed softly. “Modest as well as pretty. That’s a potent combination.”
Merciful Mary, she might swoon like some giddy girl if he kept looking at her that way and she might say. anything.
If this man had cornered her in the chapel, who could say what she might have done?
“Averette—that’s in Kent, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is indeed! Have you ever been there?”
What a stupid question! Surely if he’d visited Averette she would remember him.
“No, I’ve never been to Kent. I’ve met your sister at court, though.”
A surge of dismay and disappointment tore through her. If he’d been to court, if he’d met Adelaide, he would be comparing them in looks, if nothing else, and nobody could come out ahead of Adelaide if beauty was the measure. The men who sought her hand had all tried for Adelaide first, and been refused.
His smile grew and she supposed that was because he was thinking about Adelaide. “Actually, I asked her to run off with me, but she wouldn’t. There was another man, you see, that she liked better.”
All Lizette’s anger and envy disappeared. He’d probably felt the sting of Adelaide’s rejection—and Adelaide could be very stinging.
“How unfortunate for you,” she replied as her confidence returned, and she gave him a smile of her own. “Why don’t you ask me instead?”
It
